Peter Clement Layard : extracts from his letters

UCSB LIBRARY

PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

PETER CLEMENT LAYARD.

Frontispiece.

PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

EXTRACTS FROM HIS LETTERS

WITH A CHARACTER SKETCH

BY HIS FATHER
GEORGE SOMES LAYARD

WITH A PORTRAIT

PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION

LONDON

JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.

1919

[All rights reserved.]

THIS LITTLE BOOK IS DEDICATED

TO

PETER'S MOTHER,

FOR OF ALL PEOPLE IN THE WORLD
HE LOVED HER BEST.

CONTENTS
PART I

PAGE

CHARACTER SKETCH i

PART II
LETTERS - 36

VI

PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

PART I

CHARACTER SKETCH

PETER CLEMENT LAYARD was born on the 7th of
June, 1896. He volunteered immediately the
war broke out, and received his commission in
November, 1914. He was killed in action at
Gomiecourt on the 2$rd August, 1918, aged 22.

Until the war broke out the profession of soldier
appeared to be the very last that Peter would be
likely to adopt. Indeed, so early as his seventh
year, with the inexorable logic of childhood, he
had definitely put a stopper on any such suggestion.
He had once heard me say that a man could not
live on his pay in the army. Shortly afterwards,
his mother happened to ask him if he would like
to be a soldier. To her surprise he answered
reproachfully and with tears in his voice: " No,
Mummy, for I should either have to starve or be
killed." For to his childish understanding the only
alternative to " living on his pay " was " dying
on his pay," and he naturally found no attraction
in that.

2 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

At the age of eight he entered the Preparatory
School for Bedales, near Petersfield, and after
a somewhat turbulent career proceeded in due
course to the school proper. That his turbulent
career had suffered no check is sufficiently demon-
strated by the following candid and illuminating
note kindly sent to me by Mr. Hooper, one of the
masters, for whom he always felt the liveliest
affection :

" It was as a boy of twelve years old or there-
abouts, in the lowest form at Bedales, that I, as
his form-master, got to know Peter Layard best,
and had a good deal to do with him. He was just
one of those boys who make the problem of col-
lective teaching a difficult one, not because of any
deliberate naughtiness but because of strong in-
dividual characteristics, and, in his case, on account
of an irresistible reaction to his immediate environ-
ment, and a lively imagination. Nothing could
be or happen in Peter's proximity without arousing
his liveliest interest. He simply must nudge or
push his neighbour merely for the sake of doing
so. In short, everything was interesting to him.
He liked excitement, and could not endure dulness
or monotony, and alas ! we poor teachers, being
only human, proved unequal to such demands,
and found them upsetting to our purposes.

" Every member of the form had his appointed
seat in the room, and his was at the end of the
front row, where at least he was reasonably undis-
turbed by what was behind him . Even so, whenever
possible I kept the place on one side and at the back

CHARACTER SKETCH 3

of him empty, in order to insulate him as far as I
could, for he just could not resist contact. It was
characteristic of him that he made a home of his
regular place, and even in out-of-school hours, when
he was free to sit where he liked, he always stuck
to this one, so that never after could I see that
seat without immediately thinking of him.

' In these early days I think his education was
much more his own doing than the work of his
teacher. When he had not got to sit still, he often
would do so for hours, as busy and absorbed as
could be, elaborating in minute detail some plan,
or maze, or map of imaginary country, all with much
ingenuity and skill. Then it would be a great
delight to sit down by him, and listen while he
explained it with his eager, excited manner. It
was amazing to meet him some twelve months ago,
after an interval of several years, wearing the
uniform of a Captain* in the army, and to find
him just exactly the same, to listen to the same
superlatives — " absolutely gorgeous !" " how
frightfully ripping !" " you simply must come !"
and so on. He really hadn't altered a bit; he
was just like a bigger little-boy, looking at his
enlarged environment with a boy's eyes — a veri-
table Peter Pan.

" ' The Pictures ' seemed to be his chief delight
just then : They were so thrilling — melodrama
above all. But it was all good, clean, and healthy
— sordidness didn't touch him. He was generous
to a degree, and beautifully happy-go-lucky. I

* He was promoted to rank of temporary Captain at the end
of 1916.

4 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

was told that he was quite surprised to discover
he had a balance of £30 or so at his bank when he
came home on leave, and that he promptly drew
it all and insisted on his sister coming to spend it
with him in Bond Street. I believe that he invested
in the latest thing in officers' tailoring, not because
he wanted to ' swank,' but because it was so exciting
to wear it.

' It would be quite a mistake to think that Peter
was superficial and frivolous — he wasn't. He
had a very quick and active mind, and was intelli-
gently interested in ideas quite as much as in things.

" At school it fell to my lot to teach him drawing,
both as a boy in my form and afterwards ; and
again it was what he did for himself rather than
what I set him to do, which was most successful;
and during his last years at school he became very
interested in making minute little coloured
imaginary landscapes, quite good in their way,
and showing a good deal of observation and a keen
appreciation of beauty. His cousin, who is an
artist, has told me that she always liked to show
him her work and get his opinion about it, because
he entered into it so keenly and seemed able to
understand what she had aimed at, and got enthu-
siastic about it. His criticism, she said, was
more valuable than those of more professional
friends.

' Well, the war seized him, along with many
others who would never have voluntarily chosen
soldiering as an occupation; but I feel sure that
Peter never had any regrets. It was life, and
exciting and thrilling, and he would never worry

CHARACTER SKETCH 5

himself about possibilities or what might have
been. Possibly routine and discipline would have
irked him at times ; but as long as he was with other
human beings he would be happy, for he was above
everything sociable. The circumstances of his
death prove what he was throughout his short
life better than any accounts or description."

That gives an admirable bird's-eye view of Peter
at school.

His restlessness and " troublesomeness," the
outcome of intense vitality and nervous energy,
undoubtedly often proved irritating to those
around him. One day when he was quite small we
had driven far into the country. Not properly
appreciating how irksome it was for him to sit
still so long, and at the end of my patience, I
threatened — of course it was a hollow threat, and
foolish at that — to put him out of the carriage and
leave him by the roadside. Naturally he was
somewhat alarmed at the idea of being marooned
so far from home, and someone asked him what he
would do if so abandoned. "I should," he said
seriously, " get a thorn and stick it into my little
body." This was characteristic of his lively
imagination and readiness on an emergency.

He had, as Mr. Hooper says, a great liking for
cinemas. When he was old enough not to be seen
across London to and from school, he made a
practice of taking his fill of the latest Metropolitan
productions. This continued till he was about
fifteen . Then came a day on his way home for the
holidays when, scanning the hoardings for the

6 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

latest thrills of the picture-houses, he was brought
up short by a very striking poster which advertised
what I think must have been the first post-impres-
sionist and futurist exhibition at the Grafton
Galleries . From that moment the call of the cinema
lost much of its insistence. Hitherto, to my great
but wholly unreasonable disappointment, he had
found picture galleries, modern academic as well
as Old Masters, extremely boring. Now he dis-
covered for himself something of which he was
really in need, something that appealed to his
essential modernity, something that enlarged his
horizon, and, what was of immense importance to
me, something that immediately brought him and
me into closest sympathy. Up till now I had
myself been sitting on the fence over these new
developments in Art, trying to keep an open mind,
but prejudiced in favour of what I knew and
understood. Pedagogically I had been wanting to
teach Peter the Dead Languages. Now the pupil
turned on me and proved that the Living Languages
had also to be reckoned with. Rightly enough,
I think, I wanted to show him that which was
done and perfected, but more rightly still he was
athirst for something still germinating, stretching
out into the future, not satisfied with the past.
At any rate, his sudden enthusiasm made it clear
to me that these new manifestations in the world
of Art meant something more than mere perversity
— were portents, indeed, of the needs of the rising
generation for a deeper vision, a more extended
understanding, new modes of expression.

With Peter, to want to do a thing was to do it

CHARACTER SKETCH 7

at once. To leave a thing till to-morrow was never
to do it at all. So off to the Grafton Gallery sped
this boy of fifteen, and not only made what he could
of cubist, futurist, vorticist, or what-not, on his
own account, but must needs seek out the secretary
for further information and discussion. And the
Secretary promptly caught fire at the boy's enthu-
siasm. Not surprisingly, for Peter's eagerness was
highly infectious. At any rate, he now made a
second tour of the Galleries in the Secretary's
company, and so ingratiated himself by his eager
curiosity and quick understanding that, when the
hour for luncheon struck, he found himself the guest
of his new-found friend at a Bond Street restaurant.

Nor did the encounter end there. Peter had to
hurry off to catch his train to Felixstowe, but he had
found an instructor to his own taste, and it was not
an opportunity to be wasted. The upshot of it
was a voluminous correspondence on Art which
was continued long after the exhibition had come
to an end.

This was a real turning-point in Peter's develop-
ment. Up till now he had been impatient of
aesthetics, whether literary or pictorial. Indeed,
it was a standing joke against him that, on his
lists of suggested birthday or Christmas presents,
he always printed in large letters " NO BOOKS."
But from now onwards his thirst for good pictures
and good books became avid. In place of the gust
for penny-dreadfuls and popular magazines of his
immaturity, there was an ever-increasing hunger
for, and appreciation of, the best in Art and Litera-
ture. Not that he ever grew to despise the lighter

8 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

aspect of things. For he was no prig. Indeed,
to the last he enthused over such frivolities as the
drawings to " Eve " in the Taller, ragtime in music,
and such funniments as those of Mr. Stephen
Leacock in print. But his greater enthusiasms
were given to Mr. Augustus John, Mr. Nevinson
and Mr. Paul Nash, in painting; to Debussy in
music and, with curious inconsistency in view of his
essential modernity, to Borrow, the Brontes, and
Mrs. Gaskell, in literature.

Fortunately, as time passed, Peter showed no
faintest sign of growing " high-browed " or affected.
Light-heartedness and gaiety were of the very fibre
of his being. Indeed, did we want to track him
in the wilds of one of the many hotels in which we
stayed together, we had only to listen for laughter,
and were pretty certain to find him the centre of it.
But he had just that underlying vein of real under-
standing that saved him from becoming that most
annoying of beings, a fribble or a buffoon. He had
too great a sense of humour to run any risk of that
sort. Colour and beauty became increasingly in-
tegral parts and needs of his life. They were not
merely matters of aesthetic, a mere frilling to
existence. They had their very practical uses,
and in no way was this more marked than in the
reliance he placed on them to help him through the
horrors of the war. It may sound a very small
thing, but it meant very much, that, on going out
the second time with the dreary drabness of the
trenches vivid in his memory, he laid in a large
stock of brilliant silk handkerchiefs to be used as
wall decorations, so, as he said, to have something

CHARACTER SKETCH 9

of beautiful colour to feast his eyes on in his
monotonous surroundings. For bitter experience
told him that for the infantryman there was no
glamour of war ; that the chief misery of the trenches
was a deadly sameness, an endless repetition of
the same kinds of horror, a boredom more terrible
than death itself. It was with the same deliberate
intention that he paid two or three pounds for a
long tortoiseshell cigarette-holder to take out with
him to the front, which will be found in his letters
playing its appointed part.

It was all part and parcel of a fine practical
determination not to allow the abiding dreariness
of the trenches to overwhelm him, to weaken
his physical and moral fibre, to upset the balance
of body and mind.

The same forethought was apparent in the choice
of papers and periodicals with which he demanded
to be supplied. The Times, Punch, the American
papers Life and The Saturday Post, Blackwood's
and Pearson's Magazines, were matters of course.
But what he particularly insisted on was the
Colour Magazine, which not only kept him in touch
with the advanced and advancing schools of paint-
ing, but provided him also with an ever-changing
picture gallery. For with those reproductions of
which he approved he would adorn the walls of his
billets and dug-outs, although with me he deplored
the uneven selection of the editors of that interesting
venture. There were, however, some of the more
advanced pictures which he told me he dared not
display, lest some Philistine among his fellow-
officers should blaspheme. An outstanding ex-

io PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

ample of these last was Kramer's " Mother and
Child," which he held in the highest and most
reverend esteem. This he shrank from exposing
to the possible ridicule of those who would see
nothing in it but an ugly peasant-woman and an
exceedingly scrubby infant !

Nor was his appreciation of Art and Literature
merely emotional. It was intelligent and critical.
In respect to the first, Mr. Hooper has given an
example. In respect to the second, I yield to the
temptation to give a specific instance of what was
of course to me peculiarly interesting.

Towards the close of his second period at the
Front, I had sent to him, as was my wont at his
special desire, some verses which I had lately
contributed to one of the Magazines. I found
them afterwards transcribed in the beautiful
decorative script, half writing, half printing, which
he had invented for himself, in the pocket-book
which he always carried upon him. He was
generously appreciative of them, and told me he
had learnt them by heart. They are entitled
' The Master-Seeker," and run as follows:

" The seed, impatient of th' authentic hour
Yearns for the sun to find its secret flower.

" Prison 'd in marble, Galatea stands
Breathlessly waiting her Pygmalion's hands.

" And language, yet a wordy rabble-throng,
Craves for a Keats to track its hidden song.

" So does my bosom wistfully await
The Lord of Love who is predestinate
To win from out my heart th' elusive elf
Which I can ne'er discover for myself."

CHARACTER SKETCH 1 1

He was, as I say, generously appreciative, but
did not on that account hesitate to put his finger
upon that which jarred his fastidious taste.

' What price ' a wistful bosom ' ?" he wrote.

And I can conscientiously say that I felt it worth
while to have been guilty of such a betise to find his
criticism so unquestionably right. For it was a
sound principle to substitute the adjective for the
adverb, and so test the quality of the word from
another angle. The line as corrected stands:

" So does my soul impatiently await "*

As will be gathered from his letters, he was too
complimentary about my writing. But that was
characteristic of his enthusiasm, and doubtless the
less it was deserved the more it was gratifying.

Indeed, I think it came as a pleasant surprise
to him that he had a father of average intelligence,
and that being so, he was not slow to realize that
even a parent is the better for some little encourage-
ment.

* The only other entry in his pocket-book which did not
immediately refer to his military duties was the following
quotation from The Order of Compline, sent out to him by his
sister :

" Keep us, O Lord, as the apple of an eye, hide us under the
shadow of thy wings. Preserve us, O Lord, while waking
and guard us while sleeping, that awake we may watch with
Christ, and in peace may take our rest."

Further reference to this will be found in his letters.

In addition to the above I find recorded the names df all the
men in his platoon, against each of which he has put cryptic
signs, which no doubt were of important significance to him
and to them.

12 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

Although it is naturally tempting to me to
enlarge on Peter's intense love of Art in all its
aspects, it must not be forgotten that to him
aesthetic emotion was quite subsidiary to emotion
of quite a different sort. First, and easily first,
in his religion of life, came his affection, particularly
his affection for his mother and sister (which
will be found so constantly punctuating his letters),
and, much as he enjoyed doing the " proper thing,"
he never allowed any false shame to interfere
with its expression. He preferred to be found
guilty of gushing rather than forego its undoubted
advantages. " We are all apt to be sparing of
assurances," wrote Robert Louis Stevenson. Peter
was not guilty of any such reticence, and certainly
he gained in reciprocity of affection an exceeding
great reward. Demonstrative he might be, but
anything of sentimental sloppiness was abhorrent
to him. His affection was wholly unaffected. It
was robust and splendidly partisan. Those he
loved certainly might do wrong, but, in his judgment,
the right they did so far outweighed it that the
wrong hardly counted. Particularly marked was
his loyalty to his family behind their backs. In-
deed, it was at times embarrassing to learn from
strangers how compact of all the virtues we were,
what anticipation of our charms had been excited,
and* to realize the difficulty of living up to our
exalted reputations.

This affectionate loyalty, combined with his
inexhaustible spirits, was, I think, the prime factor
in his extraordinary popularity — the reason why the
shoals of letters of regret received from all sorts

CHARACTER SKETCH 13

and conditions of men and women strike the note
of personal loss. He was so splendidly alive that
he radiated vitality. Something quick, something
electric, seemed to charge his surroundings, so that
with his loss all felt that much virtue had gone out
of them. It was not only clear to him that it takes
all sorts of persons to make a world, but equally
clear that all are entrancingly interesting if only
one takes the trouble to exploit them. He was
out for adventure. Every moment of life must be
lived. Everyone was a possible companion in the
quest. None was too humble, none too exalted.

It is indeed on record that, on occasion, he would
fly at very exalted game. Fortunately he had the
sense of humour that disarms offence, and, by its
spontaneity, keeps on the hither side of impudence.

He was about sixteen when the ex- King Manoel
of Portugal was a visitor at Felixstowe, and an
enthusiastic player at the Lawn Tennis Club.
At that time autograph-hunting was Peter's
temporary craze. Here was an opportunity that
could not be missed. So at the conclusion of a
sett up he goes, takes his cap off, and, proffering
paper and pencil, says :

' I say, Sir, you might give me your auto-
graph."

" All right," says the King with the utmost
good-humour, " turn round and I will write on
your back."

" You'd better not let people see what you're
doing, Sir," said Peter, " or you will be besieged."

' Very well," said the King, laughing, " I will
disappear."

14 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

And disappear he did, but not till after he had
performed his part of the contract.

Later on, through the exigencies of the war he,
still hardly more than a boy but now the proud
possessor of His Majesty's commission, found
himself — certainly with suppressed amusement but
as certainly with no embarrassment — thrown
unexpectedly into the society of exalted personages.

How we laughed over the story of the Church
dignitary's wife who, greatly impressed by his
personality, so far forgot the conventions as to
exclaim to the Primate of all England who had just
entered the room: " Oh, Archbishop, / must
introduce you to Mr. Layard !"

And how we laughed again at Peter's quick
adaptation to his newly-found and most reverend
acquaintance, whom he delighted with an anecdote
(apocryphal perhaps, though certainly character-
istic) about Dr. Johnson, which His Grace had
never heard before !

Again, there was the case of the beautiful Duchess
with a house contiguous to their camp, who gave
a general invitation to the Mess to come to tea on
any day that suited them. In due course the visit
was made with all ceremony by the officers in
massed formation. But without Peter. For he
had no idea of being lost in the crowd. So what
must he do but bide his time, go and call tout seul,
and have the beautiful Duchess to himself? I
confess I envy the Duchess.

Again we find him winning golden opinions as
the guest at the high table of a great Cambridge
College, not only holding his own with the pundits,

CHARACTER SKETCH 15

but surprising himself by setting the tune of the
conversation. He had great native intelligence,
which moved with ease even among intellectuals,
who might well have intimidated anyone with more
self-consciousness or less pliability.

These are but characteristic examples of his
adaptability to all sorts and conditions of people.
His adaptability to circumstances was equally
marked. One or two examples may be given.

After being wounded in 1916, he was in hospital
a mile or two outside Newcastle-on-Tyne. To be
near him during his convalescence his mother had
put up at an hotel in the town, and he spent his days
with her. Taxi-cabs being few and far between,
the tram was as a rule the only alternative to the
long walk back to the hospital. One evening he
found the overcrowded tram-cars besieged. Sud-
denly in the distance he saw a fine private car
approaching — a lady the sole occupant. In a flash
he realized that, with his bandaged head and his
arm in a sling, occasion was ripe for a diplomatic
adventure. A moment more, and he had detached
himself from the surging throng and, with weariness
and dejection charging every movement, had started
to trudge the painful road. Another moment
and the car had pulled up beside him, and the fair
and compassionate owner had risen to his artfully
calculated lure.

That was a legitimate adventure enough. The
second, though equally ingenious, was clearly not
so defensible.

Again the tram-cars were crowded, this time,
indeed, so crowded that the drivers would not even

2 B

1 6 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

pull up at the appointed stopping-place. The
situation was desperate to one still weak from
his wounds, and desperate ills demand desperate
remedies. At the critical moment Peter's eye fell
upon the movable points of the tram-line. At no
risk to the car its course could be diverted. With
him to think was to act, especially if the piquancy
of danger was not lacking. And in this case
danger was imminent in the person of an adjacent
policeman. That made the adventure irresistible.
In an instant his heel had wrenched the points over,
the while his face wore the innocence of a dove.
The inevitable happened. The next tram-car took
the wrong metals at the junction, had to be backed
to the stopping-place, and Peter reaped the
triumphant reward of his wrong-doing.

No doubt it was indefensible, but then I am not
out to prove that he was in any sense a plaster
saint. Furthermore, it was this very readiness of
resource and adaptability that made him the good
officer that he proved himself to be.

Of course his impetuousness got the better of him
at times. Indeed, I remember a dreadful scene in
an hotel in the South of France where as a school-
boy he had joined us for the holidays. An amorous
swain, not in his first youth, lay back in a rocking-
chair making play in the presence of the girl of his
heart. In the excess of his emotions he rocked
himself back and forth. As ill fortune would have
it, Peter was lurking in his rear. Back rocked the
chair, another tip would do it. And to Peter came
temptation. The next moment the unfortunate
Lothario lay on his back, legs in air, his up till now

I

CHARACTER SKETCH 17

successful transports quenched in the inextinguish-
able laughter of the onlookers. Whether the whole
thing was fortuitous, or whether Peter was an
instrument in the hand of destiny may be open to
question. Anyhow, the episode, unimportant in
itself, goes to show that Peter was not, as a boy,
free from the defects of his qualities. Had he
realized what agony of shame it must have meant
to the sufferer nothing would have induced hi.m to
meddle, for his mischievousness had no cruelty in
it. But he must always be experimenting, and
empiricism is bound to find its victims. Indeed,
it was all part of his adventurousness. He had
enormously developed what Ben Keeling called
" the sense of fun of sitting on a large orange
spinning through space."

And the manifestations of this sense were endless.
It was an adventure to go in an aeroplane, and he
went whenever he could. It was an adventure
to find himself earning money. It was a greater
adventure to spend it . Indeed, he naively admitted
that he loved to buy expensive things, not so much
because he wanted them, as because they were ex-
pensive. He made no bones about it. It was
adventurous to have the sensation, for however
short a time — and it was certainly never long-lived
in his experience — of being rich. The discovery
of a balance at Cox's meant a balance no longer.
He would give a dinner to his sister and friends
at the Carlton, and have stalls for the theatre
afterwards. And he would have a car for the even-
ing— no common taxis for him — and Croesus-like
keep it waiting his pleasure at hotel and theatre.

1 8 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

And if it meant the tops of omnibuses for the rest
of his leave, well ! there was nothing really pleasanter
than the tops of omnibuses ! Besides which, it
was just as great an adventure to see how far a
little money could be made to go as to see how
quickly a comparatively large sum could be made
to melt away.

Nor was it only, or indeed chiefly, objective
adventurousness that made his companionship so
stimulating. He was equally ready for mental
and speculative adventure.

A typical example comes to my mind. He was
on leave, and we were walking on the Lower
Sandgate Road at Folkestone. Suddenly he half
slipped up on a loose stone that had strayed on to
the asphalte path.

" By Jove !" he said in an alarmed voice, " I
might have sprained my ankle."

Immediately the full comedy of the situation
struck us. Here was he, a veteran of the war,
recovered from wounds and at any time likely to
be ordered again to face the deadly perils of the
Front, suddenly appalled at this tiny and imaginary
danger. From this we easily went on to speculate
how, so far as we were for the moment concerned,
this whole uniyerse seemed to have been created
for the express purpose of bringing that very stone
at that precise instant under his foot. And thence
we plunged into one of those intimate talks which
lifted us out of emptiness of phrases and made us
feel that together our heads were touching the
stars. Regardless of the wisdom of mental reser-
vation, we would open our hearts to one another

CHARACTER SKETCH 19

and discover the passionate pleasure of true inti-
macy.

Not that it must be understood that talk with
Peter was normally so intensive. That would
give a wrong impression altogether. For he would
with as great enthusiasm discuss the detail of a
lady's hat as " the effect of the movement of fish-
tails on the undulations of the sea." In fact,
he would probably prefer the former. But if a
scientific fact found itself upon the tapis, he was
eager to tackle it and discuss it with all the profun-
dity of which he was capable.

This brings me to a further point. No doubt
Peter, like every decent person, had his reticences,
but openness was an outstanding characteristic.
As a result, misunderstandings when they happened
never festered for want of ventilation. They never
assumed such proportions as to need those formal
explanations which are as appalling in the moral,
as surgical operations are in the physical, world.

Another point that made things easy was that
he was generous in conversation. When excited,
no doubt he might for the moment appear over-
bearing; but at the back of his bluster he was as
generous as Laurence Boythorn himself, and would
be at the next moment laughing at his own
vehemence. More and more as time went on he
strove to understand what his opponent was
saying — not occupying himself the while in merely
searching for a counter-stroke. He was cordial,
and his cordiality was catching.

A good example of this understandableness is
to be found in the following letter.

I

20 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

Before going out for the first time we had given
him a motor-bicycle, for the reckless riding of
which it may incidentally be mentioned he had,
more than once, paid the proper penalty. On his
return from France after having been wounded
he found that it had greatly deteriorated. He
therefore wrote to his mother asking her to make
him an advance towards the purchase of a new
machine. This she very properly, though regret-
fully, declined to do, writing at the head of her
letter " Hateful business." This he countered by
heading his reply " Lovely business," and wrote
as follows :

" Your letter was one of the sweetest letters of
refusal. In fact, I probably love you for it more
than if you'd accepted, tho' I can't tell why. . . .
I 'm going to do my best with the old one — get new
tyres, etc., not costing much. I hope you don't
still hate refusing me. That part of your letter
made me feel an awful rotter. I have quietly
thought it over, and I think you are perfectly
right, you splendid darling. The thing you say
about my bike being responsible for sciatica ends
the letter up with a sweet humorous touch. I
think it's very good for Nancy and me that we
are not too rich. You and Johnny don't want to
be, so that's right too. I am going to save up now
and I shall have a fair bit to start with, as ap-
parently I haven't been drawing all the allowance
I should have while on leave. I shall put it into
the war savings book I've got, with the idea of being
able to take it out when I want it. I shall

CHARACTER SKETCH 21

go up next week-end to see about my old bike.
Much more fun having a bike that needs brains
to work than a new one that goes anyhow. Really,
you sweet darling, you've saved me £30, I'm sure,
as I '11 be every bit as happy without it .
Thank God for a sweet mother like you.
Very hugest love from

PETE.

It seems to me that the spirit of this letter could
hardly be bettered, nor is it unamusing in this
connection to recall the fact that, earlier in life,
he had declared that if he were free to choose a
profession it would be that of a millionaire.

But to return to his conversational agility, which
of course had its pitfalls ! For his love of adventure
made him eager to balance on the dangerous edge
of persiflage. It was an adventure to see how far
he could presume, how far he could be personal
without giving offence, how far audacity could be
allowed to go. And no doubt there were occasions
when he had to pay the penalty of his temerity.
But as time went on he grew quick to recognize
if offence was being taken where no offence was
meant, and he was ever cleverer at healing a wound
than at inflicting one.

I have mentioned his cordiality, and in nothing
was this more apparent than in his readiness to
acknowledge favours. And he was as punctual
in thanking us for doing things that might well have
been taken for granted, as in acknowledging bene-
fits from those on whom no such obligation rested.
This scrupulousness was amusingly exemplified

22 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

when, as a boy of about ten, he underwent an
operation for adenoids. To the doctor's and
nurse's amusement and gratification, the moment
he awoke from the anaesthetic, and whilst still
half-unconscious, he politely and promptly tendered
them his thanks for their kind services.

Further evidence of this punctiliousness informs
his letters — a niceness of conduct which may well
come as a surprise to those who only knew him
before his mercurial temperament had been disci-
plined by his training as a soldier. For it is of
the irony of things that the war which took Peter
from us also gave him to us in a sense which cannot
be over-estimated.

No doubt his scrupulousness resulted largely
from the strict rules of politeness inculcated by his
mother. Nevertheless, one felt that his politenesses
were not merely perfunctory, but were charged with
genuine feeling. This was very apparent in his
intercourse with old people. He was certainly
very far from being unsusceptible to bright eyes,
but he was just as often to be found laying himself
out to fascinate women old enough to be his grand-
mother. He had the perception, rare in those of
his age, that old people yearn for sympathy,
affection, and lively banter, though not so openly,
as do the young, and he gave of his best to all and
sundry. An example may be found in his deter-
mination, in spite of everything, to spend his
week-end leaves when in England with us. I used
to beg him to go to London and have good times
with his young companions, but he would rarely
do this, declaring that he preferred the quiet times,

CHARACTER SKETCH 23

the rubbers of bridge, and the good talks that he
had with us, to anything more exciting. And if
to give happiness is the greatest happiness, Peter
must in this last year of his life have been happy
indeed. Certainly, never were parents more
fortunate or more satisfied in a son's companionship.

As will be seen from his letters, Peter was no
stranger to hyperbole — a characteristic inherited
from his paternal forbears. He felt keenly, and
found exaggerated phraseology a weapon easier to
his hand than logic, and used it accordingly. He
was not of those who speak in cliches. Every word
he said was alive with feeling or meaning newborn
at the moment. If he told an old story, he told it
in fresh words, bending his mind to give it life.
As I often said to him: " Peter, I can hear your
brains creaking !" He made up in imagination
what he lacked in knowledge, and though this
might not make for scientific accuracy, it certainly
made for pleasurable and lively intercourse.

Not that where Peter had studied a subject he
was inaccurate. Very much the reverse. He
probed deeply for the why and wherefore and was
meticulous in mastering details. But while he was
quite capable of knowing everything about some
things, he was also curious to know something
about everything, and though it would be exaggera-
tion to say that omniscience was his foible, he
preferred (in spite of Pope's advice) to risk the
danger of a little learning rather than deprive
himself of the pleasure of tasting the Pierian Spring.

It is true that his impetuosity and spirit of
adventure led him not infrequently to essay

24 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

experiment before he had become expert. Indeed,
I well remember an agitated letter from a temporary
tenant of Bull's Cliff, our house at Felixstowe,
saying that a fire had broken out, the result of an
unprotected electric wire in the bicycle-room. It
is hardly necessary to say Peter was the culprit.
New to the business of harnessing the lightning,
he had run a wire into the room ignorant of the
necessity of the most elementary precautions.
Whether or no the Insurance Company would have
recognized liability had the house been burnt down
seems problematical. Fortunately for me, Peter
on this occasion got his lesson a good deal cheaper
than he deserved.

But, as I say, once he became interested in a
thing he was very thorough, not to say reckless, in
probing its possibilities. Unmethodical he might
be, for he hated to do things by rule, but certainly
he managed to arrive. A result of this was that,
when he had mastered anything, he was curiously
surprised to discover his own proficiency when put
to the test. An example of this occurred at the
conclusion of a course on tactics for about a hundred
young officers in* the spring of 1918. When the
resulting examination was imminent, word went
round that the six who came out first and the six
who came out last would have to undergo the ordeal
of a personal interview with the General. Peter
was one of the selected and, as he told me afterwards,
he had not the faintest idea whether he would be
amongst the sheep or the goats. In the event he
found himself specially singled out for honour,
and the only one of the whole course recommended

CHARACTER SKETCH 25

for work on the Staff. Unfortunately for us —
though who can say unfortunately for him ? — the
great final Push was imminent, officers for the front
were being loudly called for to take the places of
those who were falling, and he was hurried out to
France before the recommendation could material-
ize. I offered to do what I could to push his claims,
but he would have none of it. If th£ appointment
came, well and good, but he would have no hand
in anything that might, however little, savour of
shirking.

To those who only knew Peter as a rather
exceptionally irresponsible boy, evidence of such
altruism might well be suspect if it only rested on
the authority of one naturally prejudiced in his
favour. It is therefore gratifying to find preserved
amongst our papers an unsolicited testimonial
from his second C.O. In this, Colonel Eaton White,
after saying that he had asked unsuccessfully for
Peter to be sent back to the regiment, concluded
with these words: " I never saw anyone improve
and alter as he did. I could do at the present
moment with ten like him." This was the more
gratifying, as it was no secret that Peter, on joining
the regiment, had been rather notoriously trouble-
some in a schoolboyish way, just as he had been
often in the past irritatingly irresponsible at home.
It was therefore the more remarkable that after
so short an interval one C.O. should be vying with
another to obtain his services.

A like radical change had occurred in the relation-
ship between him and myself. There had never
been any antagonism. Indeed, we had probably

26 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

more common affection than exists between most
fathers and sons. But there was no very active
understanding. The cause lay as much in the
unnatural conditions of civilized life as in faults
of character on one side or the other. But with his
joining the army, and especially after his first
baptism of fire, there came a miraculous change.
Suddenly came the realization that he was no more
merely a natural and sometimes troublesome result
of fatherhood, but a son doing a man's work; no
more merely a boy to be patronized, but a friend
to be cultivated; no more merely a companion to
be tolerated, but a comrade, stimulating and
interesting to a degree which I had never before
experienced as between man and man. I found
that to enjoy anything in his company was to
double the sum of enjoyment. With his mother,
whom he loved more than anyone else in the world,
this had been the case from the earliest days. In
my case the war gave a meaning to our relation-
ship that was nothing short of a revelation. Every
phase of him gave me a sense of long-sought
satisfaction .

This seems an appropriate place in which to say
a few words as to the characteristics of Peter's
letters, bearing in mind that letters are very often
as wonderful for what is left out as for what is put
in. The absence of self-pity in them might well
lead the casual reader to suppose that the discom-
forts in Flanders were really hardly worth com-
plaining about. Take this quotation from a letter
to his aunt, Miss Nina Layard :

CHARACTER SKETCH 27

February 8, 1916.

" I am glad you had a good time flint-hunting —
it must have been really after your own heart.
I love thinking of everybody having a good time.
Do, oh, do, tell people to enjoy themselves and not
think how awful it must be in the trenches —
as it isn't too bad, though we have had a pretty
stiff time lately. How exciting about your model-
ling. Out here where it is very chalky we often
cut little figures in lumps of chalk with our jack-
knives, when waiting about in the trenches with
nothing else to do. Thank you again hugely for
the parcel."

And this was the Peter whom we had looked on
as selfish. Well, I suppose he was, as we all are.
But then it is only the selfish who can rise to a
zenith of unselfishness, as it is only the indolent
who can be heroically active, the coward, .not the
man who never knew fear, who can be supremely
brave. For just think what sort of things were
covered by this " not too bad." And lest my
natural prejudice should be suspected of exaggera-
tion, I paraphrase from a chance page of
' Kitchener's Mob " which lies at my hand, and
whose author at least cannot be accused of extra-
vagance.

It was " not too bad " to be living from morning
till evening and from dusk to dawn, looking upon a
new day with a feeling of wonder that he had
survived so long.

It was " not too bad " to move on and halt,

28 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

move on again, stumble to get out of the way of
headquarters cars and motor-cars, jump up and
push on again : every step taken with an effort
through intolerable mud. It was " not too bad "
to lose touch with the troops ahead in the dark,
and to march at the double to catch up, all in
the despondent, despairing frame of mind that
comes of great physical weariness, and to do it all
through noise so deafening that each man was
thrown entirely upon his own resources for comfort
and companionship, since conversation was impos-
sible. It was " not too bad " to pass over ground
covered with the bodies of comrades, men who
had done their bit and would never go home again ;
to see them huddled together in little groups of
twos and threes, as they might have crept together
for companionship before they died, some lying
face downwards just as they had .fallen, others in
attitudes revealing dreadful suffering, others
hanging upon the tangles of German barbed wire.
And then to arrive at the trenches that were to be
relieved, to see those who, had been holding them
cased in mud, their faces, seen by the glow of
matches or lighted cigarettes, haggard and worn,
a week's growth of beard giving them an appearance
wild and barbaric; eagerly talking, voluble from
their nervous reaction, hysterically cheerful at the
prospect of getting away for a little while from
the sickening horrors, the sight of maimed and
shattered bodies, deafening noise, the nauseating
odour of decaying flesh.

All these things were " not so bad " that people
at home need stop enjoying themselves to think

CHARACTER SKETCH 29

how awful it must be for those they loved as they
loved themselves to be in the trenches !

That, and infinitely more, is what lay behind
these casual and unselfish lines, this tolerant
acceptance of all that was most intolerable.

Of course, the war will have its full-dress his-
tories and its full-dress biographies of the great
leaders who have figured in these past five years.
That is as it should be. But of the " short and
simple annals " of the rank and file, who had no
prospect of honour or renown to sustain them, who
went uncomplainingly, nay more, voluntarily, to
do their unambitious part, and looked for no
material reward, who will adequately speak ?
Where is the recorder of the blood and tears and
heroism of the numberless lives which were sacri-
ficed to the making of the Great Pyramid, wanting
whom it would not have been ? Just so, who
will be found to do meet and proper homage to those
subalterns and privates who, in their humbleness,
were so important in the World War that without
them no great leader could have gained any reward
or reputation whatever ?

I am inclined to think that the only way we shall
properly arrive at anything like a just understanding
will be by reading for ourselves between the lines
of such unstudied utterances as Peter's letters.
We must picture these boys in no heroic attitude
such as the painter finds on huge canvases for
his Field-Marshals and Generals, in which fierce
encounters are depicted taking place in the back-
ground between their horses' legs. In no letters
from the front that I have seen, and certainly not

30 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

in these of Peter's, is there any attitudinizing
of this sort, any chauvinistic braggadocio. In-
stead, we discover boys not unnaturally bewildered
at finding themselves cast for, and doing their
level best in, parts for which they were never
designed by Nature, more and more, as the first
flush of excitement and curiosity dies down, filled
with disgust at the apparently ridiculous and
tragic futility of the whole thing. Indeed, so
unspeakable are the bloodiness and bestiality,
that we find Peter, like most others, refusing to
speak of them. Extraordinarily communicative
as to the every-day happenings of existence, when
it comes to the great experiences, hair-breadth
escapes, great horrors, he declines to dwell on them.
Dwelt on, they might well become an obsession.
Ignored, he forces them into a position of secondary
importance.

Not that these experiences at the front were
failing to leave their mark on him. This will be
clear to anyone who reads his letters. One can
see the boy gradually developing into the soldier,
though at the same time one can see that the man,
however old he grew, would never cease to be a boy.
There may be a growing seriousness, yet there is
no sign of disillusionment, no abatement of hope
and enthusiasm. On one of the rare occasions
that he approaches philosophy, he writes to his
sister apropos of a few days rest from fighting:
" It is a great thing to suifer evil, because you can
enjoy the commonplace as if it were just a joyous
holiday specially prepared for you." There we
have an indication of psychological development.

CHARACTER SKETCH 31

No longer is he merely impatient of what is dis-
agreeable. He is recognizing that nothing in
life is absolute, everything relative — reminding
one of Keats 's question: "Do you not see how
necessary a world of affairs and troubles is to school
an Intelligence to make a Soul ?" It is this
aptitude on the part of our sons at what we our-
selves have been slow in learning that makes us
proud that we could have been their fathers,
thanking God that even at the cost of losing them,
they were and are for ever ours. As time goes on
this sense of intimate possession curiously inten-
sifies. More and more people and things present
themselves in terms of Peter. " How Peter would
have loved this !" " How Peter would have laughed
at that !" help us to cling fast to his admirable
companionship. As his sister says to me as I
write: " He is just as near to us now as if he were
in Australia and never wrote to us." Never to be
other than young and joyous, never to know dis-
illusionment, his life is to us a perfect episode
rounded off by a symbolic act of self-forgetfulness.
For the facts of his death need no embroidery.
His Colonel wrote: " He was killed after the
successful capture of a village in which he led his
men with great gallantry. He was killed instan-
taneously while binding up a wounded German."
And a brother officer, the only one to come unhurt
through the engagement: "We were attacking
Gomiecourt on the 23rd August, and the attack
was extremely successful, and we were consolidating
the positions won ; your son was carrying on with
re-organization of his platoon. He went back to

3 c

32 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

see if he could find any more men, and on his way
back he came across a wounded Boche, whom he
bound up and was talking to when he was hit
through the heart by a sniper." This is supple-
mented by such laconic but eloquent sentences
as: " He was extremely gallant in action, and
was greatly respected and esteemed by all he
came in contact with." " He was a great soldier-
loved and admired by his men." And from his
corporal, when he was wounded almost to death
in 1916: " He was as good an officer and gentleman
as ever wore the King's uniform."

Later I was able to discover further particulars
of the action.

On August the 23rd two companies of the Suffolks
one of which was Peter's, were detailed to take the
village of Gomiecourt. This village was the apex
of a deep salient into the enemy's lines, which
lay between and in advance of the two Divisions
of which the Suffolks were a part. Until this
stronghold was reduced, the Divisions could not
advance with any degree of safety. Gomiecourt
stood on a high point above a cup-shaped valley.
High ground on either side of the hollow was held
by the enemy and* manned by machine guns. As
the officer commanding told me later, the position
appeared to them impregnable, and would probably
have proved to be so had not the Germans broken
and run almost as soon as they were attacked.
And the fact that only Peter and one other officer
of his Company got through unhurt is proof that
the danger of the operation was not exaggerated.

Then in the moment of victory, the village

CHARACTER SKETCH 33

captured and five hundred prisoners taken, came
the end. Having rounded up his men, he came
across a wounded German . Worn out with fighting
as he was, he stooped to bind him up. That was
the moment chosen by a German sniper to shoot
him through the heart. Just four words he spoke :
' I can breathe now " — and was dead.

That is the plain story of what happened. There
is but one thing that should be added. I have
it from one of his companions that the night before,
he and his fellow-officers knew how desperate an
affair was before them on the following morning,
that " the odds in favour of death were enormous,"
that the hope'of getting through was forlorn enough.
And yet, worn out with two days of continual
fighting, too tired to sleep, he must needs write a
cheery letter home with apologies for missing a
day ! It was the last communication we had from
him, and reached us the day after we received the
fatal telegram.

AugUSt 22,

MY DARLING ONES,

I didn't write yesterday, as we were simply
going the whole time, and never saw anyone who
could get back. I expect you will see something
in the papers which will explain my busy-ness.
A maddening thing has happened. I have lost
my sweet little sponge-bag made by you, my
razor (as last time), and rhy soap. But don't
trouble about replacing them, as I may be able
to get one when I go out of the line. I'm dead
tired, and have had about five or six hours inter-

34 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

mittent sleep in two very strenuous days. I
don't know when we are to be relieved, but I do
hope soon. The organization is tremendous —
and so is the chaos, which can't be avoided — but
so far we've had our rations up fairly well, though
water has been scarce. Anything to wet our
mouths was welcome, so you can imagine with
what joy I sucked your lemon last night when I
was dead tired and hadn't a drop of water left
in my bottle. The morning of the first day was
very misty, so we were lucky — but later the day
was tropical; and to-day has been hotter, if any-
thing. I'm really too tired to sleep. I have had
two letters since I've been up — from Mum with
Miss Tennent's enclosure, and Dad's about the
C.O. asking where my gas-mask was ! The joy
they gave me was too huge for words. I hoarded
them, and haven't read the T. enclosure yet. We
just had some lovely tea to drink, and I feel that
my thirst is quenched for the first time !

I'll try and get this off to-night.

PETE.

Before another day was out he slept well indeed.

In his pocket were found the letters referred to
from his mother and myself. They were returned
to us stained with the yellow soil of the country
in which his dear body finds rest. His mortal
remains lie in the Cemetery of Douchy-les-Ayette,
about seven miles south of Arras.

Though it will be clear that Peter had consider-
able personality, I do not claim for him that he was
any more remarkable, any better, any more heroic

CHARACTER SKETCH 35

than hundreds of his fellows. Certainly he would
not have claimed anything of the sort for himself,
and would have laughed to scorn his fellow-officer's
description of him as " a great soldier." And yet,
like how many more, enamoured of life he went
laughing into the arms of death ; he knew the agony
of fear, yet never flinched; he did violence to the
native pity of his heart, and rigorously dealt out
such punishment as he could to the common enemy
of the world; asking no questions, unconsciously
he emulated the heroism of his great ancestor,
Sir Richard Grenville, and just did his " duty as a
man is bound to do."

" He has outsoared the shadow of our night.
Envy and calumny and hate and pain,
And that unrest which men miscall delight,
Can touch him not and torture not again.
From the contagion of the world's slow stain
He is secure, and now can never mourn
A heart grown cold, a head grown grey in*vain."

PART II

THE LETTERS

WHERE not otherwise stated, the letters were
written to his mother or myself, or to us jointly.
In a few instances consecutive extracts have been
placed under one date. He wrote practically every
day when in the trenches, but exigencies of printing
have necessitated a very large curtailment.

January 18, 1916.

I am now in the trenches — and it really is the
most utterly inexplicable sensation I have ever
felt. Beyond a slight aversion to food, and a
curious involuntary twitching in the biceps of my
left arm, I haven't felt definitely frightened yet—
two quite unusual ways of feeling frightened.
This morning I have been sort of looking after a
party who were carrying ground boards up to the
front trenches, but I think the Germans must have
seen us, as this happened : I was walking behind the
party and stopped to talk to a strange officer, and
when I finished the men were about 70 or 100 yards
ahead of me, and just as I started on I saw a burst
of smoke in the air about 30 yards ahead. I
ducked, heard the explosion, and then, terrified
because I was alone (a cat would have been com-

36

LETTERS 37

pany), I went cautiously on and caught the men
up. On the way back I found a bit of the shell
which was still warm, and in the wall of the trench
were lots of shrapnel holes — tho' I couldn't find
any bullets. . . .

Every morning (or anyhow this morning) they
issue each man and officer a small portion of rum.
This is very nice and cheering, and I had some in
my tea this morning. Send out as many papers
as you like, Punch and others — Nan will know the
ones. Also I insist on seeing the proofs of my
Barnett photo. I shall be miserable if I don't. . . .

From his Diary.

January 19.

Early this morning at 6.0 a.m. I was walking
round the trenches with Sgt. Rutter when a mine
exploded under us and buried me, Rutter, and two
other men up to our knees, with our heads almost
over the parapet. We were dug out in about
J hour, but two of our men were buried alive — as
were five or six engineers. They must have heard us
working our mine and blown theirs in prematurely.
All the other men half buried with me have gone
to the dressing station, and I have come back to
Mazingarbe to rest after the shock, as it did put
the wind up me a bit ; so really I have got off better
than anyone else.*

The reference in the following letter is to his
elder brother, John Willoughby Layard, who had,

* He told jus nothing of this in his letters, and only casually
mentioned it when home on leave.

38 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

in 1914, been doing valuable ethnological work
for Cambridge University on a small island in the
South Pacific. When the serious condition of
affairs in Europe had filtered through to his lonely
outpost, he had, early in 1915, taken the three-
weeks' journey down to Sydney, and volunteered
for the Australian Army, but had not been found
fit for service. Later in the same year, having
completed his work, he returned to England, again
volunteered for the Army, and was offered a com-
mission. Unfortunately, as a consequence of
malaria contracted in the Tropics, he broke down
in training, and was eventually discharged as
physically unfit.

January 21, 1916.

I am very glad that Johnny has got started with

Col. E now, and am not at all surprised at

him finding the " orange sucked dry " —but I am
rather glad, as he will have a better chance. If
he has to give any words of command in front
of these government officials, tell him not to be
afraid to yell them out clearly, as it nearly always
impresses them ; and swear at the men if they do it
wrong, even if it is your fault — it sounds awful but
it is true. I will write every day when I possibly
can, but there may be some days when it is im-
possible, or the mail may not get off.

I have got a sad bit of news to tell you — but it
is nothing to worry about. Our Colonel . . .
was killed the last day we were in the trenches.
He was a splendid man — wise and kind, but I
am afraid there is no doubt he was foolhardy.

LETTERS 39

He was about 47 years old, and he was climbing
over the parapet at about 3 o'clock in the morning,
to look at a piece of ground, and he got picked off
by a swinish German sniper. He never feared
anything, and while the others crawled over the
parapet, he walked over upright, which was very
unwise. He was buried this afternoon, and all
the battalion attended. The Adjutant is a very
capable man, and he will make a splendid tem-
porary C.O., and I shouldn't be surprised if he's
promoted. The way he was killed is a great lesson
to all of us to be more careful always.

Nan's letter and yours (Mum's) are all so
deliciously cheery and sweet. I wonder if you
remember that in " Books of To-day," some time
ago, there was a prize offered to the person who
composed the best and cheeriest letter to a man
at the front — and I know that both of yours, in
fact those of the whole household, would win the
prize above all the ones I read in " Books of To-
day." . . .

Do let me see some of the snaps you took of me
the last day.

January 27, 1916.

I love looking at the stars, and especially Orion
and his belt, and thinking that they are the identical
ones you see. Do look at them sometimes, as I
love thinking that — as it seems to be the nearest
we can get to each other. I often think of you
all sitting in your cosy house while I sit in my cosy
dug-out — it is simply extraordinary how we don't
value luxuries till we haven't got them. . . .

40 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

Sunday, January 30, 1916.

The socks, arrived to-day, are the greatest
blessing, just as my feet were cold and damp and
while I was longing for a pair to change into —
and I had none, having lost my pack. You angel !
— words can't express how I love getting letters
from you all, seeing Dad's writing on the parcel
and your letter inside, and another sweet letter
from Johnny and one from D. . . B. . . AND
a parcel from the F— -'s containing i cake and i
paper! I haven't opened it yet, as we move up
to the reserve line to-night, and it is easier to
carry done up — so my last post was a lovely one,
wasn't it ? ...

There's a very human touch in Johnny's letter.
He says : " There is one very boring thing1 — we are
only cadets now, and have to salute baby officers
when we pass them in the street." I thoroughly
sympathize with him — it is a thing I should have
loathed doing.

February 7, 1916.

Rest billets ! ! Oh, joy ! — we are in them at
last, and I am gloriously tired, but love writing you
a line before I go off to bed.

I have just got your two exquisite parcels. You
sent them off by the exact post, as I hoped I would
not get them while I was in the trenches — as it
meant I should have to struggle down here under
the weight of them. As it is, directly I got here
I found and unpacked them. It was a huge joy,
and I was dying for every single one of the things
that you sent. We marched back hard from the

LETTERS 41

trenches, and on the way we had a halt, and I was
lying in the dark, staring up at a glorious starlit
sky, when I started singing half aloud, "Sun of my
soul," etc. It is a sweet tune — and when I had got
half-way through a sweet voice joined in and sang
parts, and when we had finished I saw it was one
of the other officers, who I had till then considered
rather boring ; and without another word we started
on other hymns, and sang parts and loved it hugely.
With your two lovely parcels, including dad's
lovely scarf, I got another parcel from Aunt Nie.
Wasn't it sweet of her ?

February g, 1916.

How gorgeous about the Zepp down in the North
Sea — and the Germans admit its loss ! I've just
put on Nan's socks and the bedroom shoes, after
only having had my high boots off once in 12
days. It is a heavenly feeling. . . . Good-night. . . .

We are back in the support trench now for four
more days, and then, thank Heaven ! we'll be out
for a rest. Yesterday from 10.30 a.m. till i.o p.m.
and 4.0 p.m. till 6.30 p.m. we had two awful bom-
bardments from the Huns. The second was
much the worst, and the trench was bashed to bits
in places by huge shells. At firs£ I was terrified,
and I got more and more so, until suddenly they
sent over an incendiary shell. It fell a good
50 yds. away, but lit up the whole place with an
enormous column of flame for 5 solid minutes.
Then came an awful smell, and we all put on our
gas helmets, thinking that it was a gas attack as
well; but that was only the fire shell. Well, that

42 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

last one was so awful that somehow I found it was
not an atom of good worrying, so I seized up a rifle
lying there, and some ammunition, and plugged
away at the Huns with the men. They must have
been astonished that we were still in the trench,
and they can't have anticipated our sudden burst
of fire.

It really is a lovely day, and I have hung out
my coat and its lining and the two blankets to air.
The coat is a mass of mud, and when I come on
leave I shan't attempt to clean it up in the smallest
degree — or my boots, or anything that is mine —
and I shall walk down Bond St. with a pack on my
back, and stump into ist class carriages. People
ought to say: " He's very young, isn't he ?" . . .

I loved hearing about your sumptuous lunch
with Forbes, tho' it did make my mouth water.

February g, 1916.

I went over to Bethune to-day — it is a fairly
large town, and tho' it gets shelled sometimes,
there are good shops there, and I bought a gorgeous
pair of gloves (25 f.), with sheepskin inside and dark
brown leather outside, with gauntlets, and hugely
warm. I lost my last pair in the bombardment,
and loved buying the new ones. I also got a
ripping squashy hat (18 f.), and a few other things.

Later. — I am just back from having dinner
at Headquarters with the C.O., second-in-command,
and Adjutant — they were awfully sweet. Why
they asked me I don't know, as only one other
subaltern was there.

No I such things as cameras are very strictly

LETTERS 43

forbidden now, tho' people used to have them a lot.
I love having your sponge-bag — I would much rather
have it than a new one, as the little marks on it may
come off oft my sponge, and get transferred to my
face, so that any sweet germs (all yours are sweet)
off your face may get on to mine and make me
radiantly lovely !

I got a lovely long and very entertaining letter
from Olive to-day. Did I tell you that when I
was sending over rifle grenades in the middle of
the night, I noticed that they were made at the
' Thames Munition Works, Erith," which is where
she works? Wasn't it romantic? . . .

. . . How killing about the house-parlourmaid,
who only knows a man fighting for the Huns ! . . .

February n, 1916.

No, I didn't get out of my clothes once in the
12 days, but one gets quite used to it. I did get
out of my boots once, which I think was more of a
joy than getting out of my clothes. Now I think
of it, I got out of my boots twice or 3 times, but
the other times seemed such ages ago that I thought
they were in the other spell of trenches. . . .

February 13, 1916.

Sudden joy !— at the last moment, just as the
battalion was going to move for the trenches, I
got a note from the Orderly Room saying that I
was to attend a course at a village near here —
and that means that I don't go into the trenches
this time. Isn't it gorgeous! I leave here to-

4

44 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

morrow for the course — isn't it gorgeous! Three
of us are going, and we are all overjoyed. I bought
this luxurious paper just now from sheer joy, and
sat down to write to you. . . .

To his Sister.

February 16, 1916.

. . . Nan — I loved your sweetly written out
quotation. I always specially love the sentence,
" In the midst of so many and great dangers." It
is so gloriously simple, and such perfect English. . . .

There is a piano here, which is ripping — the first
one I've seen since I came out. There is a concert
this evening, and I believe I've got to do an accom-
paniment or two. I do wish I could read as well
as you — I'd give pounds to be able to.

Later. 7.45 p.m. — I am writing this to the
accompaniment of a Stanley Kir by rag-time, which
I don't think you know, called " The Most Wonder-
ful Girl." The concert went off very well, and
thank Heaven I didn't have to accompany. People
always think I can read anything, from the way I
play the things I can play, and they always have to
be disillusioned. It was a painless disillusionment
this evening. (What a word !)

February 17, 1916.

Such a surprise I had last night ! I happened to
be reading that little New Testament that Aunt
Nie gave me, and I thought I'd read Peter; and to
my astonishment I found, in Chap. 2, Verse 17,
" Fear God and honour the King " — I thought that

LETTERS 45

it came out of Shakespeare or something ! I
suppose you know it quite well.

Here is a thing that will amuse Nan. Whenever
the Major who is commandant of this course comes
into the room, we all start up ; and if I am writing
and have my specs on, I always snatch them off
so as to look beautiful. Nan — tell Mum about
the time that I, you, and Christina, were all at
the theatre together, and how we all snatched off
our specs whenever the lights went up.

February 20, 1916.

Now to answer Nan's letter. First of all I got
her sweet music, and I struggle with it and love
it. Someone has just been playing it quite well.
It's marvellous that it should arrive just as I am
near the first piano I've seen since I've been here.
Nan — our house will be gorgeous ! — I've seen little
things here that I long for.* On a farm there's a
sweet little silhouetted weather-vane. It is a horse
and cart, and looks lovely against the sky. I long
to climb up and steal it on a dark night. . . .

There's a loathsome man here who always strolls
about the room and looks as if he's reading people's
letters — I believe he does; anyhow, it'll serve him
right if he sees this ! . . .

The absence of cant and bravery out here is
delicious. Everyone admits to being in a funk,
and longing to get home on the pretext of small
wounds, etc., which would render them " tem-
porarily unfit for military duty."

* There was an idea that his sister and he might take a
cottage together when he came home.

46 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

February 22, 1916.

. . . We have had another lecture since I wrote
about the snow — and it has been going on hard,
and I spent a very pleasant hour during the lecture
watching the flakes get bigger and bigger, and
blacker and blacker, against the sky, and coming
faster and faster down ; but now it's almost stopped,
and the ground is white with about an inch of
snow. It looks lovely on the naked trees, and
makes war more utterly impossible and absurd
than ever.

It is still snowing, and the whole place looks
gorgeous. (More thoughts- on futility of war.)
Have you ever noticed how marvellously quiet
it is on a snowy day ? — much quieter than indoors,
even if you ARE in a room alone. . . .

To his Sister.

February 22, 1916.

I've written all the news to Mum, so this will
be an ASSES' letter.

I am so thankful I have got nice white teeth —
we all have, haven't we ? — but I say that because
such a lot of these Scotch officers and tempys have
awful teeth.

Don't you think that " disoblige " is an awful
word ? A Scotch, very tempy, just used it to me.
You see, I went out to get my letters, and returned
in 17! seconds to find him in my chair (by the
fire), so I said, " If you don't mind, that's my
chair," but he stuck to it like a hog-leech, and said
he didn't know it was; so I said, " Yes, you did
because my pencil and paper was on it — and any.

LETTERS 47

how, you know now !" But he said: " I'm sorry
to disoblige you — but I don't see why I should
remove."

So I had to leave it at that. (Awful words
underlined.) Then I produced toffee and offered it
to everyone — to him first, and I 'm sure he wanted to
give up the seat then, but I'd got one just the same,
which I still hold. You see, there's a sort' of chair
etiquette, like anything else, and I do think I was
right. What gorgeous waste of paper this letter
is, isn't it? By the way, the Hun-Scotchman
referred to above has " des dents affreux." . . .

The Corps commander — a marvellous man of
about 55, with 80,000 men under him — a double
General, came and talked to us to-day. He is a
huge man, about 6ft. 4in. high, with a grey mous-
tache, and he has had a commission for 35 years.
He simply raged against the Government, and
he told us lots of things — he is about the most
marvellous man I've ever met. We all loved him,
and one of the things he said was: " People who
have never seen me say that I'm mad, and people
who know me say that I'm a damned fool — they

may be right, but anyhow " etc. He is just a

wonderfully outspoken man, and we were all ready
to worship him when he'd done. . . .

March 2, 1916.

I am going to write this, which I nearly wrote
yesterday evening, but I thought it would worry
you, so I write it now when I am safely back.
( 1/3/16) 4.30 p.m. — I have been told I have got to
go on patrol to-night, and I am rather afraid.

4D

48 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

It is a loathsome job. With one Cpl. and one man,
who each carry two bombs — as I do (I also carry
a revolver) — we have to go out about 40 yds. in front
of our trench (at midnight), and see if we can hear
the Germans doing anything; or if we see their
patrols, bomb them. Of course, we warned all our
men not to shoot, and we went out over the parapet,
walked for about two minutes, and suddenly the
Germans sent up two or three lights, so we flung
ourselves flat down and lay still till the lights had
finished (I forgot to say that they are about 200 yds.
away). Well, we got up and came to a trench
which is between the lines, about 30 yds. from our
own; and we lay outside it to listen for any Huns
who might have patrolled into it, but no one had.
Before this we had to get thro' our own wire, which
is difficult, and one falls about and apparently
makes an awful noise.

When we made sure there were no Huns in the
trench, we listened a bit longer and then started
back. When we were about 20 yds. from our
own trench suddenly the German machine guns
started to fire. They may have seen us or not—
but anyhow they hadn't fired for 3 hrs. The way
they fire is this. (Sketch.) These four lines show
the way the gun can swing round, and the shaded
part of the picture shows the ground where anyone
standing up would get hit ; so you lie as flat as
possible, and put your head in any hole, and pre-
ferably with your back to the Germans, as, if one
hits you, it doesn't hit a vital part like your head,
but hits your leg or back instead. Well, we lay like
this simply eating into the ground, so as to get our

LETTERS 49

heads down, and they swung over us 4 or 5 times,
always too high. Of course it seemed ages, but
people looking on said that two machine guns went
on for a whole minute — which is a good time. That
is 500 shots fired. Well, as soon as they stopped
we got up and tore back, and leapt into our trench
greatly to the alarm of the adjacent sentry, who
probably thought us Germans but was too flabber-
gasted to fire. . . .

Wednesday, 7.55 p.m.

The people about | mile on our right have been
having a great bombing attack — it was wonderful
to watch all the flashes in the dark — and our artil-
lery put over 4. i /-inch shells. They are the most
ghastly things imaginable. When they exploded
they shook all the ground right round here —
and they make a hole 30 ft. deep and 50 ft. across.
Isn't it too awful — the shell alone weighs just over
a ton !

I rather hate watching these strafes in a way,
because you think of all the poor men being broken
and killed — and for what ? I don't believe even
God knows.

Any faith in religion I ever had is most frightfully
shaken by things I've seen, and it's incredible that
if God could make a 1 7-inch shell not explode —
it seems incredible that he lets them explode; and
yet, on the other hand, I don't know if I told you
that in our horrid bombardment I described to
you, the shell which came near to me was a dud,
and that seems rather deliberate luck or something,
tho' He knows I didn't deserve it a fraction as

SO PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

much as the poor splendid heroes who are killed.
I hate the whole thing, and so do we all, because
it shouldn't be.

The Germans were quite nice two days ago.
The battn. on our left sent out a patrol, and the
Hun machine guns saw them and fired, hitting 3.
They got 2 back, and when they went for the
3rd he was gone, and in the morning they put up
a notice in German: " Tho' alive when we took
him into our trench, No. 1328 Pte. Summers has
since died from wounds." When we saw this
we put up a notice : " Danke sehr." It was rather
sweet, wasn't it ? But of course that makes it
worse, as it shows how unwilling everyone is to
fight. We kill them because they'd kill us if we
didn't and vice versa, and if only we could come to
an ordinary agreement — —But we can't.

REST BILLETS,

March g, 1916.

. . . No, I don't and won't economize. To-day
I had a lovely shopping tour. I bought a lovely
pair of pyjamas (silk facing) — BUT STAY — they were
really necessary, as the loathsome flannel ones I
brought out seem to attract the moisture and
are always damp, and of course we never get a chance
of airing things. Then I bought a lovely solid
walking-stick, 3.50; and two collars, 2.50; lovely
pipe, 3.50, and its case to keep dust out, i.o; and
clothes-brush, i.o.

Now I spent 36.50 — so what did the heavenly
mauve pyjamas cost ? . . .

There is the most gorgeous tea-shop here, and it

LETTERS 51

has the most lovely little cakes in it. You go in
and choose your plateful, and then on the way
thro' to where you eat a beautiful French girl
springs on you, and gives you a paper saying how
many cakes you've got. Then you order chocolate
(lovely and sweet), coffee, or china tea — and you
are served by another beauty. All this in a town
that gets bombarded occasionally ! It is a gorgeous
change. I ate 4 chocolate eclairs, and two sort
of open jam-tarts, but instead of jam it was cherries
in a sort of squdgy red juice. I shall feel ill to-
night ! !

M— - and I were walking across the square
to-day, and we saw two nurses, evidently ladies,
walking across, and we both exclaimed simulta-
neously, " How ripping to see an Englishwoman
again !" and we then realized that the one thing we
longed for was to be allowed to talk to an English-
woman— but we didn't like to go up to them and
ask if we might talk to them for 10 minutes, as it
wouldn't have seemed right. But I realize that
the fact of never seeing a fellow-countrywoman
is one of the things that makes one feel such a
barbarian. Be she i, 29, 58, or 100, it wouldn't
matter. . . .

April 3, 1916.

This evening a peremptory order came from
Brigade that " Lieut. Layard will report imme-
diately to Brig. H.Q." That is in the town about
2 miles off. I was very puzzled, and the C.O.
couldn't think what it was about. Well, I went,
and the Brig. Major said in an angry tone: " The

52 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

General wants to see you." So I thought:
" Heavens ! what have I done !" I waited about
10 minutes, and the B.M. said: " The General
will see you now." And he was sweet — seeing
my name, he said he knew some Layards, but I
couldn't gather which; and then he asked me if
I'd like to be Trench Mortar officer: it is quite a
couchy. job sometimes — not on others. And I
said, " Yes, I would "; and after asking me a few
questions, he said I should be — and I should hear
further about it.

To his Sister.

April ii, 1916.

One thing in your letter makes my mouth water
hugely, and that is you singing to the people.
I immediately began to hum " Pauvre Colinette,"
and I remembered little pieces like " Elle est morte
en fevrier," and I cried for sheer joy. Don't forget
that ever — it's the sweetest song I've ever heard.
Do you remember at L Johnny loving the sing-
ing so that he cried for joy? I couldn't under-
stand it till my last Sunday when we all sang hymns,
and then I did too. I've never felt more wonder-
fully happy than on that day, although it was my
last with all you sweetest people.

April 24, 1916.

I expect the noiseless T.M's you've heard about
are worked by compressed air. ... As I write
a veritable Adonis is sitting next to me. Hugely
handsome, but, alas ! I fear dull. Like so many
people with good looks. I always think what a
marvellous family we would be if Johnny and I

LETTERS 53

were marvellously handsome, and Nan radiantly
beautiful, and if we still had the same characters.
But if we were such ocular feasts as I describe,
I don't think we should be nearly so nice !
How splendid about Dicky !*

April 28, 1916.

Two glorious letters from you, and one from
Dorothy with the news in it . The infant is a son —
and I am to be one of the godfathers ! Aren't
I hugely honoured ! Tell the Girdle that I've got
two boys to pit against her one girl now. I
suppose it is all right being godfather to two
separate ones, isn't it ? Both the mothers' names
are Dorothy, which is rather funny. I am writing
this in the shade of an old windmill made of huge
wooden beams. It is a wonderful weird old
thing. . . .

Aren't the Irish too hoggish for words ! — they
need strafing hugely. Starting with worst, this
is how I hate people now :

1. Conscientious Objectors.

2. Irishmen.

3. Americans. f

4. The Cabinet (I read the Daily Mail}.

5. Germans (they are much the nicest).

May 4, 1916.

The flies buzz about lazily, but they don't settle
on one much, as they have tons of things much

* Lt. Richard Dickinson, R.N.A.S., who had been awarded
the D.S.O. and Croix de Guerre for his great flight over Con-
stantinople.

t This was before America came into the war.

54 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

nicer than live humans to eat. There is a sweet
white and grey pussy quite dear, which lives in this
dug-out. Altogether it is a perfect place for a
holiday if the Huns don't Minnie. . . . We are
going to plant bulbs and flowers round our dug-out
— do suggest good things. The soil is sort of
clay, and it gets very dry in hot weather. . . .
No, I've never been beyond the sound of the guns —
not' even beyond the range ! . . .

May ii, 1916.

I simply long to see you all — I would do and
give almost anything. I get so sick to death
of this beastly rotting about in the dullest part
of the whole world. Your last two letters were
simply sweet, and made me love you more than
you can possibly guess. I go out of this trench
on Friday, thank heavens ! Good-night now,
you sweetest of all perfect mothers — I am quite
tired and ought to have a good night if we aren't
disturbed. You darling sweetheart !

May 12, 1916.

I am out of that filthy trench at last. It was
lovely for the first three days and absolute hell
for the last five. Early this morning from 5 to
5.30 we had a terrific strafe on a big mine the
Huns blew up two days ago. Heavy shells, light
shells, heavy mortars, light mortars, and bombs.
After the first 3 minutes you couldn't see the place
for black, white, yellow, green, and red smoke.
Black from the heavies and big shrapnel, white
from light shrapnel, yellow and green, from stink

LETTERS 55

and gas shells, and red when it hit a pile of bricks.
It was priceless — and then they retaliated, and the
air was full of flying pieces, and we were hugely
thankful for our shrapnel helmets. . . .

May 13, 1916.

I have got a terrifically gorgeous secret to tell
you as I write, but — I shan't tell you, as I'm not
quite sure. I've got a marvellous feeling in my
stomach, and I love the whole world madly, and
only very few people could annoy me. But I am
also terrified in case anything happens. When
you get this letter the secret will probably be out —
as is even a cat let out of a bag.

I don't think I shall telegraph to you till I actually
get to England — then I shall come STRAIGHT down
to you, so you MUST NOT rush up to London to
meeeeeeet meeee, as we might cross. I think it
is much the best idea that I should go to you
'first, and then all to dear London Town to-
gether. Can't write any more tho' there's tons to
say, as I've just had the most HEAVENLY NEWS
POSSIBLE

Peter told me afterwards that, when the news
came that he was to go on leave, he was in the
trenches, and so distractingly bored that he would
almost have welcomed a shell that would find him
and put an end to the whole thing. Then came
the chit saying: " You will proceed to U.K. to-
night." And suddenly every shell, every explo-
sion, took on a terror that he had never before
imagined. Like Kipling's hero in Plain Tales

56 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

from the Hills, his good fortune suddenly sapped
him of all courage, for life that had but a moment
ago seemed valueless now became invaluable.
Not only was he terrified lest a missile should get
him before he started, but he was terrified in the
train lest it should run off the rails before he got to
Boulogne, terrified in his bath there lest it held
some hidden danger, terrified on the steamer lest
it should run on a mine before he got to Folkestone,
terrified in the train again lest it should meet with
some mishap before he got down to Devonshire,
and finally most terrified when in the motor he
sighted his mother and brother, lest there should
be an accident before he reached them.

After an all too short six days of " gorgeous "
happiness he was back again at the front.

ROYAL PAVILION HOTEL,

FOLKESTONE,

May 21, 1916.

Just a tiny line, as we are here for three hours
before the boat goes. Glorious sun.

I didn't want to say good-bye properly at the
station, because I love you so terrifically, you angel.
Really, I couldn't possibly imagine a more gorgeous
leave, and nothing went wrong. I shall write
SOME on the boat. I am in splendid spirits, and
don't feel going back half as much as I did going
to school. What could have been more perfect,
you sweetest one ?

June i, 1916.

... I have had rather a trouble to-day — one
man lost ten francs out of his coat, and he told me

LETTERS 57

about it, and I said I'd make inquiries; and in the
heat of the moment he told some other chaps that
he suspected a third man. This third man got to
know and was furious, and says his reputation is
ruined unless he is court-martialed and found
innocent. He wouldn't take a humble apology
which the other man made to him — and I am
trying all I can to persuade him to give up his idea,
as if he insists on it we can't refuse. It would be
a bad thing for him, as everyone knows he's a decent
chap, and if he was court-martialed it would appear
in orders with his name saying he had been tried
for theft. I haven't told him that yet, but it is
my last argument, and if he won't listen to that,
then it will be like running his head at a brick
wall, and the man who accused him won't be
punished at all.

June 10, 1916.

Just got your letter written on my birthday
addressed to your twenty-year-old. It is a colossal
age to be, isn't it ? I have just been thinking
(thoughts no doubt prompted by my great age)
how I shall make any money after the war, and the
more I think, the more utterly incapable of money-
making I find myself to be — and yet, I have
promised to be a millionaire by your diamond
wedding. Of course there's a good deal of time —
and if the worst comes to the worst, I might marry
Miss J. P. Coats or Miss Mallaby Dealy, or someone
like that. But I don't think I shall ever marry,
unless one of the two aforesaid wenches. I am
writing this absurd letter because I am quite exiu

58 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

berant. I had a ROW this morning, and it was
raining and everything beastly — and now (3.15)
the row has blown over better than I could possibly
have imagined, and the sun is shining ; consequently
I feel much better than if it had been fine all day
and there had been no row. ... I wish you
would send Bob (the dog) out in your next parcel—
I simply love him, and long for a friend like that,
as most of the humans are 'such asses. ... G.
and I are just going down to see a late landlady
of ours who has a beautiful daughter — or, rather,
two, but I hope one is away, as I propose to give
one a silk hankie (quite the correct thing, I may
tell you), but if they are both there I can't cut it
in half, so I shall have to keep it.

June 16, 1916.

. . . We are hugely busy to-day, as we are taking
over a new bit of line and the old people were
awfully slack. I go up to-morrow for certain.
I've had several false alarms, but it really is true
now. I am rather glad to change our position,
as the Bosches were being rather rude there. I went
up to the line this morning, and it seemed fairly
quiet, and though they were shelling a bit the
inhabitants of the line said it was very unusual. . . .
I am very glad you said " don't tell me if you don't
want to," after asking me who the row was with,
as I don't want to. I may tell you later. Tell
me about professions I might take up.

That the " change in his position " did not prove
very healthy- was made only too clear to us by

LETTERS 59

two telegrams received a few days later from the
War Office, the second of which ran as follows :

" June 21, 1916. 2nd Lieut. P. C. Layard
admitted 14 General Hospital, Wimereux, June 20.
Gunshot wound scalp and fracture of tibia severe."

A few days later his mother received the following
letter written from " a hospital in France," from
which it will be clear that the description of his
wound was not correct.

June 19, 1916.

I've been wounded at last, and you shall know
the extent in the next sentence. My left asm is
broken between elbow and wrist — quite a clean
break of the big bone — and my head is punctured
in five places, but my skull is intact ; I had a wonder-
ful escape, but I shall tell you all about that later
on. I may get to England quite soon, or I may
take a month — anyhow, they tell me I'm well out
of action for three months or so. I go to the base
to-morrow or the day after. Of course, it's my
left arm that's broken. None of my wounds hurt
very much, except when I'm being dressed. I'm
bruised all over, and consequently am stiff. They
have clipped my hair all off. I had to leave that
other page where I did, as I have nothing to hold
my paper with. You sweetest one — do you re-
member you said in almost the last letter I got :
" God bless my sweet son and bring him safely
home ?" Well, it's a blessing in a way — and I
think home wounded is better than here well, don't
you ? Give my hugest love to everyone, and look
out for my name in the casualty lists, and keep

5

60 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

whole papers with it in — it will be such fun seeing
it. I look a huge hero sitting up in bed thus.
(Drawing.) Isn't it shriekingly funny to think
that / should have been wounded fighting !
Didn't you think the last thing in the world I'd
do would be to fight ? I can't write every day now,
so don't expect me to.

To his Sister.

NORTHUMBERLAND WAR HOSPITAL,

June, 1916.

... I got your sweet letter of hero-worship,
which I thought ought to come, to-day. I loved
it so. I think I'll be here for about three weeks—
until my arm is all right — and then — how glorious !
My writing is so bad because I can't hold the paper
still — not because my hand is very shaky. You
can't possibly think how joyous I am to get away
from France — it was so loathsome. I hope I
stay in England for absolute ages. I think of
" Bing Boys,'"1 Half-past Eight, """"Razzle-Dazzle,"
and " Fishpingle " as things of the near future.
There are quite a lot of Comedians from Ypres at
this hospital, and I rather love them.

It is fun that I'm not going to die, or anything
low-class like that. I only wondered if I should
die once — and that was when I was being jolted
along the road in a hand-cart, half fainting and
half awake; and then I didn't ask them, because
I remember thinking what a coward a man was
who asked me that, when he was wounded.

LETTERS 6 1

When Peter was well enough to go to church for
the first time, he whispered to his mother: " What
a sense of peace !" Then suddenly noticing the
lancet windows: " They look like shells."

So ended Peter's first period at the front. For
three months he was in hospital or convalescing
in Devonshire. Towards the end of September
he passed his Medical Board, and was pronounced
fit for light duty. Altogether he was in England
for almost exactly two years. He was ordered
to the front again on June 24, 1918.

June 30, 1918.

I am en route for the line now, and go on by train
early to-morrow morning. The organization has
increased a thousand-fold since I was here last,
and the whole thing is too wonderful for words.
I love watching it all, and feel more interested
if anything than I was on my original trip. I am
going to a very good division, which is nice, and I
shall have to be very brilliant.

July 6, 1918.

... I won't answer your sweet letters now but
later. They make me long to come and see you,
dear hearts. . . . What a wonderful thing about
Julian getting the V.C.* It really is a magnificent
thing to have. I do hope he isn't missing after all.

* His cousin, Captain Julian Royds Gribble, V.C., Royal
Warwickshire Regiment, after being " missing," for six weeks
was discovered to be a prisoner in the hands of the Germans.
While still in Germany he died of influenza, November 25, 1918,
aged 21. Announcing the award of the V.C., the Gazette said:

62 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

To his Sister.

July 7, 1918.

Thank you so hugely for your sweet letter, and
for the illuminated bit, which I am keeping I was
most awfully touched when you told me about
Sister Annie praying for me — a little thing like that
puts new strength into one, tho' it does make one
actually weep with joy and home-sickness at the
time. Give her my very best love, and tell her
that — and also that I shall always remember her
after what you said. Tell her, if you think fit,
that the first thing that I thought so tremendously
touching about her was her little rough hands,
which speaks of all the homeliness and naturalness
which I long for more and more out here.

What time in the evening is Compline ? I shall
try and think of you saying, " Keep us, oh Lord,"
etc., and say it myself then. I wish I could stop
being sentimental and home-sick in this letter, but
yours about Sister Annie touched me so.

July 15, 1918.

... I know people in England say: " What
curious ideas and superstitions the soldiers at the
front get ! But of course it's only natural." Well,
however much people at home may disbelieve it,
this business about crucifixes remaining untouched

" By his splendid example of grit Captain Gribble was materi-
ally instrumental in preventing for some hours the enemy from
obtaining a complete mastery of the crest of ridge, and by his
magnificent self-sacrifice he enabled the remainder of his own
brigade to be withdrawn, as well as another garrison and three
batteries of field artillery."

LETTERS 63

is simply wonderful. There is a very much strafed
house near here to which I have been several times,
and in it — or all that is left of it — is a big centre
room with one wall out of four 'standing, and a fair
amount of roof left supported by the wall, and a
window- frame and a few bricks opposite it. On the
mantelpiece stands a fragile procelain figure of
Virgin and Child — absolutely untouched. On the
floor is a stone which would weigh about 2 cwt. —
blown from its place across the room and almost
twisted beyond recognition. It is absolutely
amazing that the figure shouldn't have been broken
by the concussion — let alone the pieces of shrapnel,
of which the room is full. There are some sweet
flowers in that garden — marguerites, small sweet-
peas, yellow things, and sweet Williams. I must
send some along one day.

To his Sister.

July 17, 1918.

... I do think that Compline sounds simply
sweet, and I wish we could have it out here. I
will think of you when it is 8.40 as often as I can.
Another comforting thing is: "The Lord shall
preserve thee from all evil, yea, it is He that shall
keep thy soul." I love the tune to that psalm — so
cheery and nice.

July 19, 1918.

Your letters (Dad's) do deserve the appreciation
I give them. I think they should be called
" Letters from a self-made War- weariness-Alle-
viator to his Son."

When in the line like this is much the best time

64 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

to get to know your men. I've got one amazing
man from Lancashire — you never heard such an
accent. It really is as if he were trying to put it
on all the time. He is very staunch and steady.
They are all nice people — bar one — and I'm getting
to know them well, and I think they don't consider
me aloof — which is what I always fear. The
one is one of those people who start trying it on
(not in a nice way, like I used to at school ! !) directly
a new overseer comes along and, finding that no
good, consider that they have a grievance and are
always ill-treated. For instance, when rations
were divided up yesterday morning — there weren't
very many — no one grumbled but him, and when
the Sgt. gave him his jam (I wasn't there) he threw
it over the parapet, and started swearing that he
always got less than anyone else. So this morning
I went round at rations and told the Sgt. not to
give him any jam at all — so, when we went past him.
in a fearfully injured and self-righteous voice he
said: Pardon me, sir, but aren't I allowed any
jam ?" So I said: " Certainly not, because it had
much better be given to men who eat it instead
of throwing it over the parapet ; if you want any
you can come to me during the day and say so."
He came, this morning, with a long rigmarole of how
he lost his temper and was sorry, so we had it out,
and I think the situation is distinctly clearer now.
What do you think of all that ? Without exception
the other 35 are wonderfully cheery and bright,
and always turn out quickly for carrying rations
or repairing trenches — though very tired. My
particular jammy one always looks discontented,

LETTERS 65

and is, I am sure, a fanatical socialist at heart.
I must try to smooth his path, but it is difficult
to do that without appearing to pander to him.

July 25, 1918.

I had a lovely little adventure this morning.
Coming home from my bath I saw a village church
which I hadn't seen before. It wasn't much
shelled, and at first I thought I couldn't get in, as
it seemed to be all locked up and was " Out of
bounds to troops." So I walked round the grave-
yard, which was a bit shelled. Their idea of a
good graveyard is absolutely different from ours.
They cover the graves with imitation flower wreaths,
and extra wooden notices, and altogether the
place looks overcrowded and tawdry, though
quite pathetic. They evidently spend a good
deal on them. While wandering round I found
a door of the church open, and the place was chock-
full of crucifixes and Virgin-and-Childs, etc. —
not one touched, though one big shell had fallen
into the church. It had broken a hole in the
wall and then burst on the floor in the middle of
the church, not doing much damage. The hole
it entered by was like this (drawing), just missing
the Vierge by about 4 inches, and then it exploded
in the middle of the church. Any ordinary shell
would have exploded against that wall and blown
all that part of the church down. Then I climbed
to what I thought was going to be the tower, and
found a big harmonium, which I played for about
an hour, and got quite good at the stops, etc. I
so enjoyed it all, and shall go there again to-morrow.

66 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

Later. — I've just had tea and am feeling a great
deal more brilliant. I enjoyed Dad's lines im-
mensely, and they seem to be a little familiar —
but there are two lines that I not only do not like
but to which I OBJECT; they seem to me to be very
sloppy, and the bad sort of early Victorianism.
The rest of it gave me a huge joy, and I was going
to say especially the third couplet re Keats; but
then I look back and find that I can't desert Galatea
in her marble prison; and then again the seed
waiting for the sun, which reminds me of the song
Ina Pelly* sang at her much discussed recital at
Bully; something about a sunflower-seed, and one
of the lines is :

" When I've grown golden and gay,
Little brown brother, good-bye."

Really, the more I read it the more I'm amazed,
it goes so wonderfully well, and the wording is so
tremendously real and natural. The words I object
to are, " bosom wistfully," " Lord of Love." I
don't know why, but they jar — I think probably
because of the wonderful beauty of expression
of the rest of the thing. To pay it an honest com-
pliment, I think " Keats " should be replaced
by " Layard " ! I really do love it more than
ever each time I read it. You must have a huge
command of language to produce a thing like that
— it can't be inspiration, it must need work and
study. On re-reading this I find I have used some
very superlative adjectives re the poem — but I'm
glad, because I am much impressed with my papa's

* Now Mrs. Christopher Lowther.

LETTERS 67

eloquence ! What a lovely idea yelling those verses
at the wind, rain, and sea. It is wonderful, I think.
I would like to whisper your verses into the green
grass on a lovely hot summer's day. I know they
would be appreciated. I remember you or Johnny
telling me about your yelling, and I did not appre-
ciate it at all — and thought it rather mad. I shall
take you to Torquay some time, as I know a good
place there for doing it. Huge rocks and a merciless
sea, driving rain and an almost incessant gale. I
don't see that the quotation re " the fathers eating
sour grapes " is unfair — I think it means that the
children's teeth are set on edge as a warning to
them to avoid the things their fathers did. I think
the metaphor is magnificent. I think this second
part of my letter is a great deal more " inspired "
than the first ! !

August 2, 1918.

I'll do my very utmost to think of you at 8.0 a.m.
onwards for an hour on Sunday morning* — and
I '11 think of this :

" This is the Body of our Lord Jesus Christ,
take and eat it, that it may preserve you to ever-
lasting life." Is that right ? What topping words
they are, anyway. GORGEOUS news just come.
I am to go off on a course to-night.

Good-night — and I leave trenches to-night.
HURRAH /

Tons of love to exquisites.

* Referring to the special services on August 4, to which
his mother told him she was going (Fourth Anniversary of the
War).

68 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

August 4, 1918.

I'm absolutely in heaven here ! It is a perfect,
peaceful, beautiful little place — and I am on the
side of a hill just like the Downs, with more Downs
opposite, and a busy little railway station in the
valley, which doesn't worry us. It is too heavenly
for words. The hill opposite is sweet, and
chequered with different coloured fields and more
trees than I've shown (a drawing), but dotted about.

My silk hankies are a great joy to me — and also
my wonderful cigarette-holder. I liked Dad's
little burst of after-dinner stories, none of which
I've used yet.

To his Sister.

August 12, 1918.

Thank you hugely for the Compline book —
I read a little of it each night in bed (as we are out
in rest now) before I put out the light. I love the
old S's. I am enjoying life hugely now — no WAR
here, about 8 miles behind the line, and I've got
plenty of books and bridge; so bar you all I'm
deficient of nothing — but what a big If ! !

Mum sent me out some lovely fly-catchers, and
they do very well here ; one got two wasps to-day,
which struggled bravely, but eventually got hope-
lessly glued up, poor darlings ! I loathe wasps
and bulls more than any other animals — I don't
know why — bar Huns, of course — but they come
below the category of animals, tho' one almost
feels inclined to say. " Poor swine !" about them
now.

LETTERS 69

August 13, 1918.

Rather a terrible thing happened last night. We
were just starting bridge (no, this isn't a bridge
episode) ! and I was making rather a noise, but I
didn't know that the C.O. was in the room — and
apparently he was, and he was having a conference
on some abstruse military problem. Anyway, he
called for me, and I didn't hear; so he called again,
and someone said, " Layard, the C.O. wants you,"
so I leapt up and he said: " Have you got your
gas mask here ?" So I said, " No, it's at my billet."
So he, " Well go and put it on and play bridge in
it." Of course, I didn't go — but I think he was
rather a hog to be so cutting; as a matter of fact,
he has rather a reputation for that sort of thing,
tho' he has also one for being a good soldier. Oceans
of love, you blessed and heaven-sent darlings.

PETE,
Your own loving son.

A supernumerary letter written because I feel
like writing, and it is too early to go to bed.

» August 13, 1918.

I am now in my bare billet, as all my things
are packed and we move off to-morrow to an
unknown place. We know only one thing, and that
is enough — we are going to a training area, which
means NO WAR for the present, anyway ! ! ! Just
before mess this evening I opened the last of my
reserve store of joy — i.e., one of Dad's letters —
the one in which he calls me a scoundrel about
three times on the first page because I write such —

70 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

by him alleged — intriguing letters that he is
forced to answer them. Needless to say, the prac-
tice will continue with more violence than pre-
viously !

[My answer to this letter was found in his pocket,
together with one from his mother, when he was
shot by the German sniper just ten days later.
It was returned to us stained with the mud of the
trenches.]

August 15, 1918.

After some very hot marches and train journeys
I have arrived at a new place. There were very
few billets for the officers, but plenty of good ones
for the men ; and I was to sleep with two others
in a room with one bed. So I went round and
used my blandishments with the French Madames,
and got a small room and bed. Also I got a bowl
of milk warm from the cow, and four poached
eggs. To-day at midday, when I came into the
room, I found the kit of one of our officers on my
bed, and apparently it is his billet — but I shall
try to stick to it. You'd love Madame and
her daughter — very healthy and red-cheeked,
Madame about 50 but very agile (looks 70), the
daughter about 25, and 25*5 nephew Gaston
aged about 3 to 7. Gaston got strafed last night
because, with the excitement of seeing me, he
forgot to say to 25, "Bon soir, ma tante Marie,"
and he had to add " Monsieur " to his list for me.
| hour later. — I had to rush off just now, as I

LETTERS 71

had to take my Lewis gunners on a revolver class,
and when I got back I found a lovely bowl of brand-
new milk waiting for me — contents about three
tumblers, and I drank two-thirds of it at the first
draught; the rest will disappear shortly, as I am
now eating some of the very excellent toffee you
sent out. The day is boiling hot, as well as yester-
day, when we marched, so you can imagine how
we sweated. Even I did a good amount. The
last | mile of the march I took and carried three
rifles — I had carried one for about six miles, two
for three miles; but then I'm not nearly so heavily
equipped as the men. (Pause for thought.) Why
does Dad miss out Orpen from his list of modern
painters ? Of course, you didn't see his exhibition
—it was magnificent. Here is a plan of the en-
trance to my mansion. I come in and out as per
arrows, and as I came in this morning one hen,
terrified, leapt from A. to B. and B. to C., where
the dog who is chained up leapt in turn upon her,
and held her by the neck, thus: (Picture.)

N.B. — The hen is the thing somewhat the shape
of England, with a " more in sorrow than in anger "
expression on its face. The dog's tail is wagging.
Before I interfered I yelled to Madame, " Le chien
a le poulet," and she came and leapt from A. to
B. and separated them — then thrashed the dog
and shortened his chain.

August 17, 1918.

DEAR Miss WINTER,

It was topping of you to write, even though
it was at Nancy's instigation. Thank you muchly

72 PETER CLEMENT LAYARD

for the nose-cleaner; it hasn't stood the test of a
French washerwoman yet, but if it does it must be
SOME material ! I am writing a poem called
" D 'ALVAREZ THE DIVINE." Please note that the
title applies to figure as well as voice. Who are
you that you should dare to criticize her ? Just
because you have been brought up to believe that
Venus de Milo's was a good figure ! Pooh ! — no
reason. I, glorying in my infatuation for the
aforesaid D 'ALVAREZ, say of the Venus, Pshaw !
the skinny brute. There you have it, and you
must consider yourself reproved ! Tell SISTER
ANNIE that she is always in my thoughts, and that
any letter I write to the convent is assumed to
convey my love to her; but that such people as
NANCY, and one whose Christian name is MILDRED,
have to be specially told each time ! ! I think that
should appease her wrath. I shan't get leave for
about another five months, which is long to wait.
We do get some wonderful effects out here, with
the gorgeous skies and blackened ruined villages
and trees, which are simply wonderfully magnificent.
It always seems to me that the RULER of everything
is proving how futile are our efforts at destruction,
showing that we only make His works look all the
more grand and magnificent — because, after all,
houses are His works just as much as trees, etc.
Well, I could go on arguing for ever, but I won't —
nor will I give as an excuse for stopping that I am
boring you, because I don't think I am, as it's quite
a good letter. Best love, anyway, and do write
again.

LETTERS 73

August 1 8, 1918.

Still in rest, but I don't know how long this
Elysium will last.

I have spent a gloriously lazy afternoon — it
being Sunday. I stopped writing this at about
3.15; then I lay on my bed and read to 3.30; then
I slept till 4.30; then I couldn't fag to walk f mile
to tea, so I made them give me some brea4d and
butter and coffee, and I scrambled two eggs myself
— and your honey, which isn't finished yet, put
the finishing-touch of joy to my tea. It is now
6 p.m. as I write, and when I finish this I shall
read " Mary Barton " until 7.30, when I go to
mess. I haven't started it yet. I've just finished
Gilbert Parker's "You Never Know Your Luck."
Quite a sweet story. One more thing I did which
I didn't tell you of — after tea I cleaned my beautiful
cigarette holder; so that my lovely day so far has
been entirely devoid of WAR, and will, I hope,
continue so. After dinner I shall play bridge and
smoke one of my cigars, provided the HORRIBEE
HUN doesn't make a nuisance of himself. About
| hour ago Mademoiselle, OF WHOM I AM NOT ENA-
MOURED, but who is very cheery and bright and
nice, brought me in some lovely flowers, as per
illustration on the other page. I enclose sarrrples.
They make a lovely blaze of colour.

August 20, 1918.

We go into the line to-night, I believe. Our rest
has been too lovely and welcome for words.

We've had sweltering weather lately, but to-day
has been dull, with an occasional drizzle. I have

74 PETER CLEMENT LA YARD

only just started " Mary Barton," but I like its
quiet genuine style very much.

The village we are in now has been much shelled
a good time ago ; but the French have all come back,
and instead of putting tiles over the holes in the
roofs they have made use of all the bits of tin they
could find, so the effect is quite funny. They are
like ants, these inhabitants, because you know
that however hopelessly wrecked an ant's nest
is, they always start rebuilding it. Well, these
people are just the same, tho' they can still be
shelled. As a matter of fact, our short sojourn
here has been quite quiet. Well, God bless you
both, dear ones.

His last letter has already appeared in Part I.

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